meet agnes

Agnes has lips that bleed when she smiles. She’s driving down twisting back roads somewhere east. The windows of the 1976 Plymouth Duster  are rolled down. Her summer world smells like fresh cut grass. The luminous linger of 8.30pm during daylight savings. The strength of the sun dips into warm rest. The car is stolen. Agnes drinks chocolate stout and often says ‘Yes’ when she really means ‘No.’ This isn’t a habit of weak will. She...
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